Chapter 3 - “MY ATTORNEY WILL CONTACT YOU”|
Vincent called at 7:12 the following morning.
Claire was already dressed, her injured knee secured beneath a pair of dark trousers. Her suitcase stood beside the door, and the ultrasound photograph rested inside a zipped compartment of her handbag.
She answered because she wanted him to hear her voice.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Claire.”
“I’m at a hotel.”
“I figured that out when I came home and found your side of the bed empty.”
She glanced at the wedding ring on the nightstand.
“You noticed.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you noticed something missing.”
Vincent exhaled sharply. In the background, she heard a door slam and a man speaking in a low voice.
“Why didn't you tell me you weren't coming home?”
“I was bleeding on the pavement, Vincent. You didn't look back.”
Silence.
Then his voice hardened.
“I was getting Sophia home safely.”
“And I wasn't?”
“Don't twist my words.”
“I don't have to twist anything. I was there.”
“Claire, this is ridiculous. You fell. You could have called me.”
“You were twenty yards away.”
“I didn't see you fall.”
“You didn't look.”
The silence that followed was longer this time.
Claire could almost picture him standing in his penthouse office, one hand gripping his phone, the other resting against the polished desk where men had signed contracts they regretted for the rest of their lives.
He was accustomed to controlling conversations.
He was not accustomed to being forced to listen.
“Where are you staying?” he asked finally.
“That doesn't matter.”
“Of course it matters. You're my wife.”
The words struck her harder than she expected.
For five years, he had refused to let her be his wife in public. Now, when she was leaving, he suddenly remembered the title.
“Am I?” she asked.
“Don't do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn one bad night into a war.”
Claire looked at the small suitcase beside her.
“One night?”
“I'm not having this conversation over the phone. Come home. We'll talk.”
“No.”
“Claire, I said come home.”
“And I said no.”
She had never spoken to him that way. Not because he had forbidden it, but because she had always believed the right words might finally reach the man she loved.
She was finished searching for them.
“Tomorrow morning, my attorney will contact you about our divorce.”
The room seemed to go silent around her.
“What did you just say?”
“I want a divorce.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No.”
“You're ending five years of marriage because I drove my assistant home?”
“I'm ending it because I'm tired of being the woman you remember only when nobody else needs you.”
His voice rose.
“You don't get to make this decision without speaking to me!”
“I just did.”
“I am not agreeing to a divorce!”
Claire closed her eyes briefly.
“Then you can explain your position to my lawyer.”
“Claire!”
She ended the call.
Her phone immediately rang again.
She declined it.
It rang a second time.
She turned it off.
For several seconds, she stood motionless, listening to the quiet hum of the hotel air conditioner. Her hands were trembling, but her voice had remained steady.
That mattered.
She had always imagined leaving Vincent would feel like falling off a cliff. Instead, it felt like standing on solid ground after years on a moving boat.
At eight o'clock, Jonathan Reed greeted her in his downtown office. He was in his early fifties, with silver hair, a careful manner, and the expression of a man who had learned never to confuse power with innocence.
He reviewed the marriage documents she had brought.
“Your marriage is legally valid,” he said. “But the secrecy creates complications, especially if there are shared assets or private agreements.”
“There are no shared business accounts,” Claire replied. “He insisted on keeping everything separate.”
“That's useful to know. Do you have independent savings?”
“Yes.”
“Any threats? Physical violence? Attempts to restrict your movements?”
“No physical violence.”
Jonathan nodded.
“Keep records of every communication. Don't meet him alone if you're uncomfortable. And don't tell him where you intend to go until we understand your legal position.”
Claire swallowed.
“There's something else.”
She opened her handbag and placed the ultrasound photograph on his desk.
Jonathan looked at it, then back at her.
“Does your husband know?”
“No.”
“Are you certain you want to proceed before telling him?”
Claire looked at the photograph.
“I am certain I can't remain married to him because I'm pregnant.”
Jonathan's expression softened.
“Then we'll proceed carefully.”
As she left the office, her phone—now switched back on—filled with notifications.
Twelve missed calls from Vincent.
Four from unknown numbers.
One message stood out.
Vincent: You have until noon to come home. After that, I'm coming to find you.
Claire read it without fear.
Then she forwarded it to Jonathan.
For the first time, Vincent's threats were no longer private words capable of bending her will.
May you like
They were evidence.
And evidence, Claire was beginning to understand, could be more powerful than fear.
